


Sanctuary

by MissusCissaMalfoy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2221965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissusCissaMalfoy/pseuds/MissusCissaMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the anniversary of his uncle's death, Castiel's home is not the place to be. His cousin Samandriel comes to the rescue and takes him to his sanctuary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to garrisonbabe for beta-ing and helping me with this fic!

There’s a little place in their town that Samandriel likes to call his own. It’s quiet and secluded, almost like a child’s fort, and he likes to sneak away there when he gets bored. He has a stash of books hidden there, ones his (extremely religious, hence the name Samandriel) mother has forbidden in their house. Samandriel’s good with finding loopholes like that. Books like Lolita, The Da Vinci Code, and The Catcher in the Rye. He loves his books, and he loves the quiet, and his hiding place is his favorite place to be. Samandriel’s place is located off the edge of the forest that was cut down to make room for their town, near a river. The sound of the bubbling brook drifts into his place, there and yet not. It relaxes him when thoughts of his father plague his mind.

His father was the kind of man that was never home, the kind that went out drinking all night and crashed at a friend’s house. That friend’s house, more often than not, was the house of Samandriel’s cousin, Castiel (whose mother is also very religious - again, hence the name). Samandriel’s father and Castiel’s father were brothers, and both alcoholics. Unfortunately, not all alcoholics are alike, and because of this, Castiel’s father is the kind that comes home angry, while Samandriel’s was the kind that stays out all night and doesn’t come home until the next day, or the day after that. He _was_ that kind because a year ago today, he got too drunk, and drove his car off a bridge.

Even though he drank all the time and was almost always away from home, and despite the fact that Samandriel’s mother is a Christian extremist, she loved him very much. Her love for him was the only thing keeping her from divorcing him, and therefore today’s not a very good day in Samandriel’s household.

Samandriel was six when it happened, and he doesn’t remember much. There were sirens, he remembers them distinctly, and at first he and his mother thought nothing of them as they sped past his house. But then a policeman knocked on their door, and all Samandriel remembers after that is his mother crying, hugging him to her chest and refusing to let go. He didn’t cry with her. He’d cried on his own, in his room, once she’d gone to sleep, but not in front of her. Never in front of her. To this day, he isn’t sure whether it was a pride thing, or whether he felt he needed to be strong for her. Maybe it was a combination of both, he doesn’t know.

The week following his father’s death, he’d stumbled upon his place. This day he remembers clearly. He’d decided to walk home one day, instead of taking the bus with Castiel like he was supposed to do, so he could think about his father, uninterrupted. The walk was a long one, and perfect for getting lost in thought. School got out at a quarter past two, but by the time he was nearing his home it was almost half past three. It was then that he found it, when in the distance he could see the Catholic church just off his street.

Truthfully, it wasn’t his fault he found it; he wouldn’t have discovered it if not for a group of malicious teenagers riding their bikes. Since Samandriel was smaller than normal and defenseless, they’d decided to pick on him. He remembers them each in turn - there were four of them (they always seem to travel in packs, he’s noticed), and they were all different. One was tall and lanky, bigger than all the others. One was short and fat. Another was fifteen, and growing a mustache. One, the leader, lived on his street, and still does. He’s three years older than Samandriel and likes to call himself Lucifer, though his real name is Lucas. He’s always been mean to Samandriel, but Castiel has usually been around to defend him. Seeing that he was alone, Luc had taken the opportunity.

When they rode up, Luc stopped in front of Samandriel, and the others circled around him so he couldn’t get away if he tried. “Where’s your guard dog, now?” he’d asked, and the others had laughed. He’d teased Samandriel some more, and then he’d seen his necklace. Castiel had found it in school one day and given it to Samandriel; it had ‘Alfie’ engraved in it, so when Samandriel started wearing it, Castiel started calling him Alfie. Before Samandriel could stop him, Luc had wrapped his fingers, grimy from bicycle oil, around the silver chain of his necklace and tugged so hard it had broken, coming loose in his hand. Samandriel had shouted, reached for it, but Luc had held it high above his head and laughed with the rest of the boys while he cried. Once he’d gotten bored of that, he had reared his arm back and flung the necklace into the forest. As soon as the kids had left, Samandriel took off running, searching in the dirt.

Long story short, when he finally found the charm (not the chain itself, that was gone), he also found his place. What had initially caught his eye was the dwindling light turning the auburn leaves a dark gold color, and the fact that there were leaves so very close to the ground. In that part of the forest, all the trees were high up, at least 40 feet above the ground, so it was strange to see those beautiful autumn leaves at his eye level. It was early in October, so the leaves had just turned yellow and orange, but had not yet fallen. It was - and still is - Samandriel’s favorite time of year. When he looked closer, he realized that there wasn’t a Samandriel-sized tree, as he had originally thought, but two much larger trees that had branches twisting and turning like vines around the trunk of the tree, all the way to the ground, forcing the leaves downward as well. He’d wondered, for a second, how they had come to be that way. Perhaps God had made this place for him, just for him.

Or perhaps God had made it for him and Castiel.

Several times Samandriel has wondered whether he should show Castiel his place. On the one hand, he wants to be able to share it with him, for it to be _their_ place instead of just his; on the other hand, however, a part of him wants to be selfish, and have it be just _his_. Not to mention the fact that his place isn’t exactly very roomy. There’s space for him and his books, and he doesn’t think he would be able to fit another person in, especially not Castiel, who’s bigger and older by almost two years. At least, not comfortably.

Yes, it’s small, but it’s cozy and it’s shelter; during the winter, it keeps the snow out, and during the summer, the shade keeps him cool.

When he first found his place, he thought it was the most beautiful place in the entire world (and he still does). His place is between two trees a little farther apart than he is tall. Vines and bushes grow up around the bases of the trunks, creating a wall at his back to keep him hidden from anyone close by. Though, it is deep enough that it would have to be a hiker, not just someone from the road. Low-hanging branches just above the height of his head shield it from the top, leaves forming a canopy thick enough to keep most of the rain off of him, but with a couple patches that sunlight can breach so he can read. The bushes are thick, but not too strong, so it’s easy for him to push through and slip inside.

The floor is rough, not a lot of grass growing so far into the woods. Twigs and rocks jut out from the hard dirt and between the tangled expanse of tree roots. When pillows and blankets started disappearing from his and Castiel’s houses, no one seemed to notice or care. He used them to cushion the floor and smooth out the branches under his small body. He’s started hoarding water bottles as well, for those nights when he tells his mother he'll be sleeping over at a friend's house when he actually spends the night nestled in blankets, reading with a flashlight.

Today’s not a good day in Samandriel’s house. It’s _definitely_ not a good day in Castiel’s house, but then again, when is it ever a good day? Today’s the one-year anniversary of his father’s death. Samandriel woke up this morning to the sound of his mother crying, and that’s actually how he knew what day it was. He’d known the day was coming up, but he hadn’t known the exact date. Now he does.

His entire day’s been spent holed up in his room, reading the boring books his mother provides him with because he can’t stand to be in the same room as his mother. He knows that, if he sees her sobbing like she was that day, he won’t be able to keep himself together; he made a promise to himself the day his father died that he wouldn’t cry in front of her, and he intends to keep it.

It’s around ten at night when it gets really bad. By now, his mother must think he’s asleep, because she’s given up all pretenses of trying to be quiet in her weeping. Samandriel can hear her from all the way up in his room, and by a quarter to eleven, he can’t stand it anymore. Good thing he’s not afraid of heights, because if he were he’d be screwed. He makes quick work of jumping from his open window to the tree outside, leaving it open so he won’t be locked out when he returns later tonight. _If_ he returns later tonight. Knowing his mother, he’s sure she’ll lock herself in her room tomorrow and sleep in until noon, and then go to church and sit in the pews, most likely alone, praying. Praying for what, he doesn’t know.

He’s snuck out of his room enough times now that he doesn’t stumble as he climbs down the tree, his feet finding the correct branches almost robotically. To be completely honest, he wouldn’t even mind if he fell; he’s not so high up that he would break anything, and it would be quicker than the meticulous descending he has to go through, but he doesn’t want to draw his mother’s attention, especially not tonight. Tonight, she has too much to worry about; he doesn’t want to add himself to the list. It’s unnerving, really, how viciously Castiel’s father screams when he gets upset. The man has a short temper to begin with, and add to that the fact that he must have been drinking all day today, trying to forget about his dead brother, and yeah, he’s yelling pretty fucking loudly. Castiel only lives two doors down from Samandriel, albeit on the other side of the street, so it’s not like the entire neighborhood can hear, but it’s still remarkable that Samandriel can hear all the way from his own house. Of course, he can’t make out any words, but his uncle’s voice is distinct, and it’s obvious he’s angry about something or other; seems like he always is, nowadays.

Castiel’s house is the same size as Samandriel’s, but his father insists on having Castiel sleep in the bedroom on the first floor so as to keep an eye on him. (Samandriel’s almost positive there’s something mentally wrong with his father, he just can’t put his finger on exactly what. Maybe some demented form of OCD? It’s possible, but unlikely.) So when Samandriel walks down the street a little, he can see right into Castiel’s bedroom, if the light is on. It is, and there’s a dark figure in the window, legs pulled up to its chest.

Castiel.

It’s in that moment that Samandriel makes his choice; he _will_ show Castiel his special place, and he will take him there to hide for the night. It’ll be a tight fit, but what does he care? Castiel’s his best friend, and he’ll do anything to make sure he’s safe.

As he approaches the house, his uncle Zach’s thundering words become clearer and clearer; they’re slurred together and slower than normal, which means he’s had much more to drink than is normal for him, and the knowledge makes Samandriel walk faster. More alcohol means more danger for Castiel. He doesn’t bother looking both ways before crossing the streets (he doesn’t hear any engines running, nor does he see headlights in his peripheral vision), and he’s at Castiel’s house in seconds.

He flinches when he hears something breaking, something large; Zach probably knocked something heavy down. He can hear his aunt’s pleading voice, sounding so weak and fragile that he feels a sudden urge to go in there and rip his own uncle’s head off. Of course, he’s only seven years old and could never do such a thing, but the thought occurs to him.

He can see Castiel more clearly as he gets closer; his hair is disheveled, more than usual, and is matted down with blood in a spot on the side of his head. Samandriel clenches his jaw and shuts his eyes for a moment, quelling the rage bubbling quietly inside him. When he kneels before the window, he can see more marks on his cousin; the entire left side of his face is swollen and bruising, as if he’d been struck multiple times, his lip is split open and still dribbling blood, and there are tear streaks painting his cheeks. It’s not like Castiel to cry, even when his father comes home like this, so that alone is surprising. What’s even more surprising is the look in Castiel’s eyes.

He looks pained, as if he is so close to sobbing again but struggling to keep himself from doing so, but at the same time there’s a glint of something new, something Samandriel’s never seen in Castiel. There’s a haunted look in his eyes, like he’s seen indescribable horrors that plague him day and night like a war veteran. If Samandriel looks close enough, he can see that he’s shaking like a leaf. Seeing Castiel so broken only makes him knock faster.

Castiel jumps when he knocks, wheeling around toward the door, as his first instinct is obviously to protect himself from his father. When Samandriel knocks again, however, though he still winces as if he’s been hit, he turns slowly around to face the window and Samandriel sees the extent of his injuries. At least, the injuries to his face. There’s no telling what the rest of his body looks like.

There’s a gash over his right eye, not so deep that he would need stitches (as far as Samandriel can tell), but so large that the bleeding hasn't ceased. He doesn't know when Castiel was cut, but he knows the bleeding would have stopped already were the injury smaller. Another cut sits on the bridge of his nose, and Samandriel feels sick to his stomach just looking at it. His jaw is purple and blue, bruising much faster than the other side of his face, and he just looks defeated. Castiel never looks defeated. To see him like this has Samandriel forcing back tears almost immediately.

When Castiel opens the window, his first words are, “Alfie, _go home_.” His voice catches raggedly and he shuts his eyes, reeling himself in before continuing. “Go home, _now_. You’re not getting hurt because of me.”

Samandriel shakes his head firmly, having made his decision long before Castiel even began speaking; however, he has to swallow a few times to moisten his throat and get his vocal cords working before he can respond. “No, no, Cas, you don’t understand,” he says, reaching through the window and taking Castiel’s hand, tugging on it. “I—” He stops when a crash sounds from inside the house, just outside Castiel’s bedroom door.

Castiel’s eyes go wide and he glances quickly over his shoulder, at the door. “Alfie, go,” he hisses, pushing his hand away and moving to close the window.

Samandriel stops him before he can, and grasps his hand again, much more firmly this time. “Cas, you gotta come with me,” he says. “Come hide with me, you can’t stay here. _Please._ ” His own voice breaks and he covers his mouth with his free hand, forcing back the sobs trying to fight their way out of his chest. It’s starting to rain, he notices distantly, as droplets of water land on top of his head, and on his arm. “Cas, please. Just trust me.”

Castiel looks like he’s about to refuse, to pull away and shut the window, but then his doorknob starts to jiggle, and he looks over his shoulder again, panicking. Though he’s hesitant, and sure he’ll be in trouble the next day for sneaking out, he hurries to climb out the window. He struggles when he’s about halfway through, having twisted his ankle running from his father earlier, but Samandriel pulls him the rest of the way out and closes the window behind him.

As soon as the window closes, he hears the bedroom door slam open, feels Castiel flinch in his arms. Taking Castiel’s hand tightly, he scampers away from the street, behind the house, pulling the elder with him. A sob wracks Castiel’s body, but none follow. Castiel won’t let them out. Samandriel admires him for it.

They run through backyards and weave through houses until they can make it out onto the main road. Once there, they slow down a little. Samandriel’s place isn’t very far, and they’ve put enough distance between themselves and Zach that even if he had been chasing them, he would have given up already and gone back home. Samandriel stops behind a small house, tells Castiel to sit with him. Medically speaking, he has no serious injuries, and most of them are ones that Samandriel can fix up for the time being. He sheds his threadbare shirt, barely there anymore what with the large holes all over, and tears a strip off the bottom, first wrapping that around the crown of Castiel’s head to stop the cut above his eyebrow from bleeding. The rest of his shirt he shreds into one long band that he wraps Castiel’s ankle in, hoping to relieve some of the pressure.

By the time he’s finished, it’s raining much harder (but not yet pouring), fat drops of water landing on Samandriel’s shoulders and eyelashes as they walk. He’s shivering from the chill of cool autumn air on his wet skin, but his trembling is nothing compared to the way Castiel is shaking. He’s sure it’s not from the cold, either.

It’s about fifteen minutes before they arrive at his place, and by then Castiel’s let almost all his resolve disappear. Tears slide silently down his cheeks, and Samandriel pretends not to notice them, although it’s hard to ignore Castiel’s occasional sniffle, or a sob that sometimes escapes him.

Castiel doesn’t ask any questions when they reach the place, just lets Samandriel spread two branches apart for him to step through. He doesn’t comment on the fact that his old Batman blanket is spread across the ground, used for padding. He doesn’t protest when Samandriel lays him down and curls up behind him, pulling said blanket over them for warmth. “Thank you,” is all he says, and Samandriel doesn’t respond, just hooks an arm under Castiel’s and wraps it around his midsection, pulling him back into his chest, before they both drift off to sleep.


End file.
